GREELY EXPEDITION 203 



the good old Proteus, which had been hastening to their reUef. They had 

 no ship to take them home. They faced a long winter, with only the food 

 — a comparatively scant supply — brought from Fort Conger. 



At this point the health of the men began to weaken. Rations were 

 shortened up. Four ounces of meat was allowed each man a day. Game 

 swam, or flew before them, but could not be secured, there by the open sea, 

 without boats; — and the boats had been lost. Starvation stared the party 

 in the face. 



Some of the feelings of the men in this situation are gleaned from the 

 diary of Lieut. Lockwood, the officer who planted the flag farthest north. 



On September 26 of that year he wrote: "The northwest gale at this 

 hour (about 4:30 p. m.) still continues. We are apparently immovable just 

 now; are probably packed and jammed in ice somewhat. God knows what 

 the end of all this will be, I see nothing but starvation and death. The 

 spirits of the party, however, are remarkably good." 



Later entries in Lockwood's journal are these : 



"October 21. Tonight we have coffee. We are now in our hut; but it is 

 not yet finished, and is cold and uncomfortable. Our constant talk is about 

 something to eat, and the different dishes we have enjoyed. How often our 

 thoughts turn toward home and the dear ones there. 



"We have found out some scraps of news from slips of papers wrapped 

 around the lemons. 



"December 3. Breakfast this morning consisted of chocolate and a few 

 scraps of butter — no bread, for I ate all my bread last night. Many of us eat 

 all our bread at night, and many try to save and manipulate their dole of 

 food in a dozen ways to make the mite of food seem more filling. I have 

 saved from yesterday some scraps of sealskin * * * j 2X^ them hair and 

 all. 



"December 24. Tonight is Christmas eve, and my thoughts are turned 

 toward home. God preserve me to see this day next year, and enioy it at 

 home with those I love." 



But God willed it otherwise. The man who so prayed to be once more 

 with his loved ones succumbed April 9, of the following year. His mind had 

 weakened, and his diary began to contain pitiful entries in which he described 

 dainties of the table. 



"Memorandum: Roast turkey," he would write while he was dining off 

 the frozen foot of a fox. With a constitution shattered by lack of food, and 

 with his reason all but gone, he died. 



